Everything That Drowns Me
by addictcas
Summary: (Endverse AU) Sometimes they make love. This is not one of those times. (Endverse!Castiel/Endverse!Dean)


**NOTES: angst, rough sex, mentions of rimming.**

Sometimes they make love.

Sometimes Dean will gently work him open with his tongue alongside skilled fingers and when he's ready, it's slow and sweet, always face-to-face. Fingers run soothingly through Cas' hair and soft words are whispered into his ear between kisses. Sometimes Dean makes him feel like he's worth something, like he's more than just a warm body to be used for pleasure.

This is not one of those times.

Dean has had about a half a bottle of whiskey and Cas is high out of his mind on Vicodin and he can barely feel the splinters of the floor biting into his knees or the sting of fingernails digging into his scalp. All he's focused on is the weight of Dean's cock on his tongue as his mouth is fucked ruthlessly. Cas swallows around the head buried deep in his throat and sends a sarcastic thanks to his absent father for not giving him a gag reflex. He nearly laughs at his first prayer in over two years.

Cas winces as Dean pulls him off and up by his hair, dragging him into a bruising kiss. "C'mere, angel." Cas bites down on Dean's lower lip for that, hard enough that he tastes the coppery tang of blood, because he _hates_ that nickname. It reminds him of everything he's not. Divine, righteous, powerful. Now, he's hopeless, useless, worthless. Human. He fell so far, for Dean, who told him he would be there to catch him. For Dean, who lied.

But there are other things that Cas would rather be doing than dwelling on the past, so he climbs into Dean's lap and grinds his clothed erection against Dean's naked one.

"Pants. Off," Dean orders, tongue slurring from the whiskey.

"Yes, sir." Cas mock salutes him and stands up, unbuttoning his jeans.

"You don't have to be a dick about–" The fallen angel cuts him off with a rough kiss, because he's hard as hell and doesn't want to get into a fight right now. He lets Dean take off his pants and remove both of their shirts and guide him onto the bed.

When they make love, this is usually the time when Dean showers him with kisses and praises, tells him how much he needs him. But this is not making love and Cas finds two fingers in his mouth.

"Suck."

Cas is really getting fed up with being ordered around so he bites down, probably harder than he meant to, but he's high as a kite so it's a little hard to judge.

"Ow, Jesus– fuck, Cas!" Dean pulls his hand away and cradles it to his chest. "What the hell?"

"You're not prepping me like that. There's lube in the drawer, use it."

Dean gives him an exasperated sigh but reaches over him for the bottle. "Did you really need to bite me?"

Cas shrugs. "You were being bossy."

Dean glares at him as he coats his fingers. "You're a real asshole these days, you know that?"

_You're one to talk_.

Still, their lips crash together, a desperate dance of lips and tongue and too much teeth but Cas drinks it down like it's water in a desert. He needs this, he needs _Dean_, even this hardened, uncaring shell of the man he pulled out of Hell all those years ago.

Cas is lost in this thought when he feels two fingers– apparently Dean's in too much of a rush to do this properly, or he just doesn't give a fuck– push inside of him. It burns, and he's not even given a second to adjust to the intrusion before they are pulled out to the first knuckle and slid back in. Dean crooks his fingers and Cas cries out as his prostate is hit. The kisses turns harsher, more frantic, and soon a third finger is added.

"Dean," Cas moans when he feels he's ready. Dean pulls his fingers out and flips the fallen angel onto his stomach before coating his dick with lube. Cas cants his hips up into the air and feels the smooth head of Dean's cock breaching him, pushing in inch by inch, too slowly for Cas, so he slams his hips back until Dean is buried to the hilt.

Dean huffs out a laugh. "Are you this eager with everyone else, too?" Cas thinks he hears a hint of jealousy in his fearless leader's voice.

"Just for you," he answers, and it's true. It's Dean's affection he craves more than any drug he's taken, it's Dean's warmth he yearns for. Being filled up by Dean makes him feel closer to him. He doesn't say any of this, though. He only utters one word. "Move."

And Dean does. It's rough and carnal, Dean's hand winds through his hair and pulls and he pounds into him. Cas breathes a sigh of relief that turns into a moan when Dean finally reaches around and grabs his previously neglected cock. The fallen angel rolls his hips forward into the tight fist, then back in time to meet each one of Dean's thrusts. They work up a relentless rhythm and it isn't long before Cas feels the heat of his orgasm building. He moans Dean's name, over and over as the grip on his hair becomes tighter and Dean's hips are slammed harder into his. Dean sucks the flesh of his shoulder, where black ink forms his anti-possession tattoo, and bites down, _hard_, and that's it for Cas, he's spilling over Dean's hand and the sheets beneath him, screaming out the hunter's name. Dean follows silently shortly after, shuddering against Cas' back.

They don't talk afterward as Dean puts his clothes back on. They never do, not when it's like this.

Cas lights a joint as Dean walks out the front door. He doesn't ask him to stay anymore. He knows better.

Maybe next time they'll make love.


End file.
